


Never Again

by arthurmarston



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Blackwater homestead, Cheating, Dutch is dad and Hosea is mom, F/M, Game typical violence and events, John’s young and dumb, Lots of Angst, Lots of drama, M/M, Multi, RDR2, Rimming, Some violence but what do you expect, arthur loves John but John sucks, pre 1899, van der linde gang - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurmarston/pseuds/arthurmarston
Summary: John and Arthur have been seeing each other secretly for quite some time, but John isn’t the ideal lover. And the Wild West isn’t the ideal love story, either...Written mostly from the outside of Arthur’s perspective. But it goes back and forth a bit.This is my second story posted here. This one is much larger and so I’ve decided to split it up into chapters to make it a smoother read. :)





	1. Red Marks and Lies.

“Why do you always gotta start with me?” Those words rang out like a shotgun blast as a door flew open and rushing through came a young John Marston. He was frantic, long hair wet and stuck to his face, searching around the hotel room for all his belongings as quickly as he could. He wasn’t trying to stick around any longer than he needed to. 

From behind him was a looming shadow; Arthur Morgan, his face in a scowl as he chased after John, rushing from the bath-room to follow the other man into the attached private bedroom. He reached a calloused hand out to grab hard at John’s boney shoulder, spinning him around and nearly knocking the wind out of the younger one. “Why don’t you tell me what the fuck them marks on your neck are then, Marston? Who gave them to you? I sure as hell know it weren’t me!” He yelled out now, fingers digging into the other outlaw’s shoulder blade as he searched for an answer. Three obvious blotches of red and purple were scattered all along John’s neck, and John wasn’t about to tell Arthur who gave them to him. For all he knew, Arthur would commit murder over it.

John attempted to swat at Arthur, desperate to get away - guilty. “It ain’t nuthin’, you’re fucking crazy, old man!” He shouted out, swinging around the opposite way to nail Arthur with a hard hook to the jaw.

Arthur flew back a few steps, stumbling and finding it hard to wrap his brain around what had just happened. John had fucking hit him. “Get the fuck over here, you bastard!” He charged at the younger man now, full force, diving for his stomach and throwing him back onto the bed. “Dutch shoulda let you fuckin’ swing! We shoulda never saved your sorry ass, you fucking pathetic sack of shit!” The words were raw and John felt them like a dirty, rusty dagger into the gut. He almost forgot that Arthur Morgan was capable of some of the most vile, criminal acts. Almost forgot. 

From there, it was a battle of fists and feet, the two going at it with each other, completely oblivious to the fact that it was 3 AM and they could wake up the entire town of Blackwater. 

“Get off me, Arthur!” John growled as he punched at Arthur’s back, the older man - also much stronger - holding him down and nailing a couple jabs to his face. 

“Tell me why you got them marks, boy! Tell me!” 

“‘Cause I fuckin’ been doin’ stupid shit, Arthur! Leave me alone!” Those were the words Arthur had wanted to hear, despite the aching pang in his chest when they were said. He knew it, deep down, of course he did. John wasn’t good at being faithful, and Arthur wasn’t good at keeping people around. They were from two different worlds, despite what Dutch wanted them to believe. Ten years of maturity stood between them, and it was just ten years too many. He stopped fighting back, shoving John down against the bed with a final huff and then hopping off to walk towards the back of the room. 

Things fell quiet, only the sounds of their labored breathing now echoing off the walls. John hadn’t even realized the two of them had drawn blood on each other, his heart racing from the nerves as he sat up slowly, wiping at his blood stricken nose. It could’ve been broken for all he knew. His face felt numb. 

“I didn’t do it to hurt you.” John said quietly now, afraid to say it any louder. Afraid his voice may crack. The guilt churned his stomach as he watched Arthur stare at his own reflection, rubbing at the back of his neck. John could see himself in the background, though Arthur’s eyes weren’t looking at his reflection. 

“Just get out. Go back to camp.” Arthur murmured out, voice defeated. 

For being only 22, John sure knew how to fuck up his whole life in no time at all. Arthur treated him good and all he did was sleep around. Again and again... again. And for no good reason either. 

“I said get the fuck out, John! Get!” Arthur roared now, spinning on his heels to throw the nearest vase that had been neatly placed on a side table. John barely managed to duck from it as the glass shattered against the backboard of the bed. John’s eyes were filled with fear, and dare he admit it, tears brimmed them, too. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he tried to reason, shifting to get off the bed and attempting to move towards the outlaw now, almost like he was taming a wild horse. 

“Don’t you dare come near me, Marston. I don’t wanna do it no more. Stay away from me or I will make you hurt. You think I won’t? You think I won’t kill you just ‘cause I stuck my dick in you a couple times? It don’t mean shit!” Arthur nearly screamed, voice akin to that of a lion. 

He stood solid in place, like he was frozen in stone. “Arthur...” he attempted once more, cringing when the brunette kicked at the nearest lamp, sending it smashing to the floor. 

“John Marston, you’re a no-good piece of shit! Can’t ride no horse, can’t swim, can’t pull off no robbery, can’t make Dutch happy, can’t even read! And what more? You can’t even stay faithful! You’re useless! Fucking useless!” Those final few words were the last straw and the little bits of sadness that loomed in the younger’s chest evaporated away and were quickly replaced with hatred. John looked away, grabbing his satchel, his gun belt, his rifle, and the remainder of his clothing, and stormed out of the room. He never looked back, the door swinging open and slamming shut. And then he was gone. Into the night. 

Arthur stayed in place, heaving heavily as he stared down the door, as if expecting John to come barging back in. And at the back of his mind... part of him wished he would. But he never did. And after what felt like an eternity, Arthur finally gave up and looked away. Immediately, he began cleaning the room up. Trying his best to ignore the fact that his lower lip was trembling and that his vision had gone blurry. 

...

It had been six months since the last time they’d fought, Arthur having done his damndest to move on and forget the younger man. Nothing good ever came to him - he’d lost Mary, Eliza, Isaac... and now John, too. All in the span of a few years it seemed. It never got easier, the pain never even got duller. Hosea had repeatedly told him life would eventually be okay for them, but it never felt like it would be. Even when Dutch tried to cheer him up by reminding him how special and loved he was. How precious he was... he felt like he was sworn to a life of imprisonment. 

But no matter the inner turmoil and the storm that brewed inside, on the exterior, Arthur Morgan was the stone cold killer he was designed to be. He was ruthless, doing all the dirty work Dutch could swing his way. And he even put on a solid poker face when he had to complete a job with his former flame. He could ignore John all day, forever. And he’d continue to do just that, even when he could feel the younger’s eyes boring into his soul on the occasional trail back to camp. 

He didn’t know what John was up to anymore when they weren’t together, though he did know that John had begun sleeping around with the camp whore, Abigail, despite his constant disapproval of how many men had slept with her. A woman Arthur had his turn with many times prior, but had abandoned when he started sleeping with John. It was ironic, of course, that Arthur left Abigail for John, and now John had seemingly left him for her. It was some sick joke, he thought. He was sure by the ever-growing marks on the younger’s neck and shoulders, that the worst of Arthur’s thoughts were certainly true: John was seeing Abigail a lot more than Abigail was seeing the rest of the men in camp. What had started out as sex in exchange for her asylum at the camp had quickly turned into a possibly real relationship and it bothered Arthur to no end. 

“Arthur.” It was Hosea, the warm voice saying his name suddenly and making Arthur stir from his journal. He’d been sitting perched up in front of the camp fire since the sun had risen, hands sketching aimlessly in the pages of his notebook. When he reconnected with the world, Arthur realized he’d written complete gibberish over and over again in the book, a sigh leaving his lips as he slammed the journal shut. He smiled up at his adopted father, the man taking the seat beside him on the log. 

“How have you been, son?” His words were rich and kind, and Arthur wished so badly that he could be honest with him. But he couldn’t be. 

“I have been great.” He said as straight-faced as he could, rubbing at the back of his head to distract himself from the obvious. 

Hosea gave a trying expression, but he didn’t dare press. “That’s good to hear.” He said softly, now patting at Arthur’s thigh. 

Arthur looked down at the hand, guilty. But he said nothing of it. 

“I need you to do me a favor, Arthur. John’s been away from camp for two days and me and Dutch have been worried about our boy. I need you to bring him home.” 

Arthur’s head felt clouded hearing John’s name, his chest feeling hollow. He hadn’t even noticed John was missing. He sighed out heavily, not wanting to disappoint Hosea, but still trying to wiggle out of it. “I don’t think nuthin’ happened. He weren’t always the smartest, but he probably just got drunk somewhere and been sleepin’ it off.” 

“It’s been two days, Arthur.” Hosea stressed, Arthur sighing louder now. 

“I know. I know. Okay, I’ll go get him.” He said, defeated as ever. Hosea smiled and gave a small pat to his cheek. 

“Thank you, Arthur.” Hosea’s gratitude was evident on his face, without Arthur even needing to hear his words to know how worried the older man obviously was. 

“I better get to it then.” He shifted his weight, moving to stand up and dust himself off. If he was going to find John Marston, he’d better get to it before an alligator did. Or maybe he’d get lucky and that would already be the case. Maybe he’d find his skeleton wiped clean of his flesh somewhere in a lagoon outside of Lemoyne. Oh, he could only hope.


	2. Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes searching for John and things get out of hand in more ways than one.

It was 7 o’ clock at night when Arthur had finally begun to give up for the evening. He’d spent nearly 10 hours out looking for John. He’d covered three towns top to bottom, each one showing no signs of the raggedy outlaw. The only thing he’d gotten out of the trip was a good sunburn on his face and an ache in his belly from the lack of food he’d eaten. He decided it would be best to hitch his horse up outside the Van Horn saloon and stumbled into the establishment to get himself something to eat and, better yet, something to drink. 

“Whiskey.” He said dryly to the bartender when he approached the bar, ignoring the fact that he should probably be eating food first. The alcohol was way too tempting. He shot down three glasses in the span of five minutes, now choosing to nurse the empty shot glass instead of pursuing another drink just yet. He wanted to get his moneys worth and give the alcohol a chance to kick in before he spent another $5.00 chasing a false high. As Arthur sat quietly in the bar stool, face in his hands, he didn’t even notice the long-haired man that had come up beside him. 

“Arthur.” The voice was deep and heavy. He’d heard it a million times before. And even then, the gruff tone still sent a shiver down his spine. 

It was John... he didn’t even need to look up to confirm it. He sighed out into his hands, trying not to make this into something it wasn’t. He was here to get him home. That was it. 

“Funny seeing you here.” John hummed out now, obviously influenced by the alcohol in his system. He was way too confident sounding. “Why would you be in Van Horn? You know the reputation this place has.” The younger attempted to reason, only to be shushed by Arthur. 

“Quiet, boy. Hosea and Dutch been worryin’ ‘bout your sorry ass and I told Hosea I’d bring you home. T’as it.” Arthur grumbled, finally tapping the table to signal to the bartender that he wanted another shot. The bartender was quick to oblige, pouring him a new glass and Arthur knocking it straight back. “I don’t need no explanation, I just need you to come home.” 

“I was gonna come home soon. Been exploring a little. Didn’t know I was missed.” John said softly, brows furrowed. 

“You wasn’t missed by me. Hosea and Dutch missed you.” Arthur reiterated. 

“Didn’t say you missed me.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, looking away. “Good.” 

“Van der Linde boys?” There was a deep voice bellowing from behind the two of them suddenly and both John and Arthur whipped around as the saloon door swung open and the sounds of spurs clacking against the wooden floor filled the now very quiet building. The pianist had stopped playing. The ladies had stopped dancing. Everyone was silent. Arthur had no clue who he was looking at but he knew one thing... he wanted nothing to do with this. Especially not when he was half-drunk and only had John to protect his hide. 

“We don’t want no trouble, mister.” Arthur began with a small chuckle, coaxing and lifting his hands as gently as possible to show they didn’t have ill intent. He looked the tall man up and down, scanning the background and counting up how many men they’d be handling if they had to. There were at least 8 of them that he could see. 

“Who the fuck’s asking, huh?” John yelled out almost immediately after Arthur, the older man shooting daggers at him and mouthing ‘what the fuck, Marston’ while instantly going to his hip to rip his gun out, shooting at the man before he could shoot them first. 

“Run!” Arthur yelled as the place erupted in gun fire, the patrons screaming and ducking out of the way. The saloon was a scene of chaos, bullets peppering every direction, the two outlaws diving over the bar and sinking to hide behind it. 

“You’re a fuckin’ piece of work, Marston! We’re gonna die in here because you can’t never shut up!” Arthur scolded the younger man, John groaning and trying his best to ignore it. Sure, he definitely wasn’t one to talk. He always shot first, then asked his questions after he’d already killed the person he needed to ask. It was a bad habit. 

John took one end and Arthur took the other, the two using all they’d been taught to try and hold off the rival gang that was desperately trying to kill them. 

“I’m gonna fill your bodies full of lead! Dutch stole from me and now I’m gonna steal from him!” The leader threatened as he charged for them, spraying bullets from his Lancaster. Arthur could still hear the screams of women and men alike as they escaped through both the windows and the front door, all trying to get away and no one trying to help them. 

“I’m gonna have to charge at them. I can’t kill them from back here, John.” Arthur said as seriously as possible now, and for the first time since they’d last been together in that hotel room down in Blackwater, the two made eye contact. “And you and I both know we’ll die if we stay back here.” They were both scared, John’s fear more evident than Arthur’s, but they both sensed it. 

“Okay.” John nodded back, swallowing hard as he attempted to get in another couple shots, taking down one of the men from his left. 

“I’m gonna get up and hop the bar and make a run for the guy. You just keep shooting, okay, Marston?” His voice was sincere, making John’s heart pound in his chest. 

John nodded, clamping his teeth together hard. 

“Cover me!” Arthur screamed out, almost like a battle cry as he hoisted himself up and slid over the bar, charging at the bearded man in front of them, his gun aimed high. It felt like time had slowed down as he lined up his shots, 3 bullets going straight into the man’s head, while John shot up from behind and took down the henchmen coming from the sides. 

The entire scene was over within 30 seconds, the room falling silent as Arthur took one last shot to take down the final man that had been running at him. He holstered his gun back into his hip, surveying the room and attempting to steady his breathing. 

“We’re alive...” John mumbled quietly from behind him, now approaching with his gun still in his hands, ready to shoot if necessary. They were both covered in blood from the close-range firing they’d gone and done, Arthur’s entire face speckled with the gang leader’s blood. 

“Yea,” Arthur answered, kicking at one of the bodies beneath him. The place had been deserted. “Let’s check their pockets and let’s get out of here.” He stated authoritatively, and John didn’t even question it, immediately doing as he was instructed. 

They’d collected a couple silver belt buckles and a bit of change and then they made their escape through the saloon doors as quickly as possible. It was only a matter of time before the law over from the other towns would come charging in on horseback, that or more gang members... and they both knew they wouldn’t be able to survive an onslaught of that caliber. 

“Shit. Where’s the horses?” Arthur said as he realized the hitching posts had been abandoned. Not only was his horse missing, but there wasn’t even one for them to steal. He glanced around, panicked, while John attempted to whistle for his trusty steed. 

Arthur slapped at his back, whispering angrily, “you trynna lead these people directly to us? Shut up!” And then he pushed the younger off towards the woods. “Run. Just run.” He ordered as he started for the trees, hoping they could make a mad dash and disappear into the night. John felt the air trap in his chest but he did as he was told and he didn’t look back, running desperately into the darkness, face red and lungs wheezing for air. 

When they’d finally stopped running, they were completely lost, deep in the thick of the wilderness, surrounded by nothing but trees and the sounds of nature. They both collapsed to the forest floor, gasping for air on their knees, trying to ease the stabbing pains in both their chests from the lactic acid that had built up. 

“We-we’re,” Arthur gagged, “we’re okay,” he attempted to say as he spit onto the grass, wiping at the corners of his mouth while he swallowed down the desire to puke. 

John was equally gagging, dry heaving as he rolled onto his back, now staring up at the sky, eyes finding it hard to focus as they shot around rapidly. 

It took them a moment, but eventually they settled, the two of them silent as they both laid on their backs, eyes up towards the sky. 

And then it hit them both like a freight train. 

They both shot up from the forest floor, attacking each other like rabid animals, hands clinging to each other’s bodies and lips crashing together so violently that it hurt more than it pleased. Arthur immediately overpowered John, the older man slamming the long-haired man harshly onto his back and pulling his bandolier off and over his head. “Get this shit off, Marston.” He growled, ripping at John’s shirt, the buttons snapping while John’s hands worked at undoing Arthur’s various belts before getting to work at his pants. There was no time for romance, the two of them like wolves fighting to the death as they pulled at each other’s limbs and forced themselves out of their clothing as best as possible. 

“Turn around.” Arthur demanded as he more than forcibly grabbed John’s hips and flipped him onto his stomach, the younger groaning in satisfaction as he felt Arthur’s hands slipping into his pants and underwear, shoving both down between his knees without much struggle, his face dipping down to sink his teeth into the flesh of John’s ass, the male crying out. 

“Fuck...” John breathed out, body trembling and hands digging into the earth, nails clumping up the soil as he felt Arthur’s large palms part him and his tongue lap up hot and wet against his hole. A shiver ran down his spine as Arthur spat against him and then licked it up, doing this several times until they’d both ran out of patience. “Fuck me, Arthur. Fuck me.” He begged.

The older man had no problem fulfilling John’s request, now propping himself up and spitting into his palm in order to slick himself up as best as possible. He’d only shimmied his pants open enough to pull his erection out so he had to work them down a bit more now in order to have more flexibility. He climbed on top of John like an animal, giving the younger one a slap on the ass before lining himself up and shoving himself deep into him without a moment to spare. 

Both outlaws screamed out in unison, John from pain and Arthur from the pleasure. They were both feverish as Arthur began to pound himself into John, as if his only purpose in life was to fuck the life out of the man. John took it as best he could, face smashed up into rocks and dirt as he felt his body being pounded into the soil. It hurt so badly and yet he wanted more of it - he wanted to feel Arthur so deep inside of him. Like a fucking disease. He needed him so badly. “Harder. Harder. Fuck, harder.” He cried out as Arthur drilled into him, the two looking more like a pair of dogs humping in the woods than two civilized men. They were both desperate for it, John attempting to sit up onto his knees so he could lean his ass back into Arthur in time with his thrusts. At the same time, John was able to jerk himself off while Arthur pulled harshly at his hair. There were no coherent thoughts between the two of them, just lustful moans and gasps for more. 

If it wasn’t the alcohol already in their systems that was making their surroundings spin, than it was the intoxicating nature of what they were currently doing... the two of them felt dizzy with pleasure as they attempted to keep up the same pace they’d started with. Things had starting getting sloppy, Arthur’s thrusts getting harder and faster, John finding it hard to keep up and eventually surrendering to the older male - letting him have his way with his body. 

They were both so close, toes curling and knuckles turning white as Arthur bit hard into John’s shoulder, blood weeping from the wound and John howling out. 

“Fuck!” Arthur yelled out as he came deep inside of John, the younger following suit moments later as they both rode off their climaxes together. 

Slowly, the world around them began to return to life as they settled into the earth beneath them, Arthur collapsing on top of John, the younger groaning at the pressure. Arthur hadn’t even bothered to pull out of John, instead kept himself there, breathing heavily against him. 

“Move.” John said now, shifting beneath Arthur until Arthur finally got the message and pulled out, slumping off John and hitting the dirt with a sigh. 

Some time after that, the two fell asleep, the sounds of the forest lulling them both into a state of bliss as they clung onto each other, passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part 2! Hopefully this one was a bit more “exciting” wink wink hahaha. Stay tuned. :) As always, feedback is appreciated!


	3. No Good John Marston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes back to camp, wondering where John had went after their night together. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long to find out...
> 
> *So far I haven’t gotten too much feedback, but hopefully people are liking this story so far! For those that have commented and left kudos, I love you guys ❤️

The next morning came fast, as it had only been a few hours since the two knocked out when the sun began to rise and peek through the thick forest. Arthur immediately began to stir the moment the golden rays touched his face, blue eyes opening and a long, tired groan leaving him as he realized where he was. His head didn’t hurt much, no, he hadn’t drank enough - but he certainly had a headache the moment it occurred to him that he’d fallen asleep with his dick out. He sighed out as he finally zipped himself up, slightly embarrassed that he couldn’t even do that before passing out. And then he looked to his right, then to his left, and realized John was gone and it was just him alone in the woods. He sat up, dazed and confused as he looked around for the younger man. He felt a pang in his chest as he tried to find any signs that last night had even happened. He felt hysterical, pawing at the ground for any traces of life but only finding his own belts and guns scattered around the scene. 

John had upped and left him again. 

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face, feeling at his overgrown stubble and groaning at the realization that he managed to unravel six months worth of recovery in one night. The younger man seemed to have that ability over him and it pained Arthur to even admit that he still cared. 

“I better get.” He said to himself as he forced himself to stand up, his body creaking and his neck aching while he stretched. As he could have guessed, the bare forest floor was not the optimal sleeping setup and it was now payback for his youthful ways the night before. “No horse, no John Marston, no nuthin’...” he grumbled as he gathered his things and redressed himself before he stalked his way out of the woods, looking for a way back home. He had no clue when John had even left, nor could he tell which way he’d gone. Arthur could track a buck for miles... but John... no. John vanished like a ghost. Always did. 

After finally making it back to Van Horn, Arthur was elated to see his horse had returned from wherever it had run off to during the gun fight. “Girl!” He chimed, quick to position himself in the saddle, loading it up with his guns, and then giving a small kick to his horse that sent them off towards camp once more. Hosea would just have to live with Arthur’s failure for now because he was most definitely not going back to search for John. Not again. His ego was far too bruised and his body was way too sore for it. 

After what felt like hours on horseback, Arthur was relieved to see the sign welcoming him back into Blackwater. Dutch’s camp for them was not much further down a stray path, Arthur now delighted to see the camp was still silent with sleep as he’d arrived so early, no one had yet to stir. There was a quiet excitement within him at the idea of going back to sleep, but this time on a mattress with blankets and a pillow. And within a tent. Arthur quietly dismounted from his horse, hitching her up at the entrance of the camp, and then tiptoed his way through the various tents and Uncle, of course, who had been passed out on the floor near the burnt out fire pit. He didn’t see John, the man’s usual tent empty as Arthur passed it, and all he could do was sigh. 

“Stupid bastard.” He muttered to no one in particular as he reached his tent, pulling the flaps open and immediately collapsing into the mattress below him. On any other day, Arthur would undress and at least remove his guns, but he was so desperate for sleep that he didn’t even mind, drifting off again to catch up on the remainder of his sleep that he didn’t get the previous evening...

“You’re a god damn pig, John Marston!” 

The words were loud, angry... hurt. Arthur lunged up from his slumber, glancing around and attempting to see through the sliver of open tent. He felt his heart nearly stop when he saw Abigail storming across, hands balled up, face wild. 

“Runnin’ off on me! On us.” Abigail was furious, chasing after someone that Arthur could only assume was the man himself. 

He scurried to his feet, fixing at his shirt collar and wiping the drool that had formed at his chin. 

“Abigail, cut it out! I didn’t run off!” It was John now fighting back, Arthur’s eyes going wide as he stepped out of his tent, noticing that others in the camp had also begun to gather around, forming a small audience. They were all watching the fight that was unfolding in front of them, stage center. 

“You can’t just keep pretending this isn’t real!” Abigail wailed, trying her best to reach out and grab John’s shirt, reminding Arthur a lot of himself. He saw the pain in her eyes - recognized it just from her voice. John hurt her, too. 

“It ain’t real! I have no clue what you’re even talkin’ about! I’m 22 years old - I don’t have time for this!” John shouted back, causing even more people to stir from their tents. Everyone had come out now, silent and watching. 

Then came Dutch, storming directly for them. Arthur sucked in a breath as he watched their adopted father come up and grab John, stopping the smaller man right in his tracks. “What is going on!” He angrily yelled, causing both John and Arthur to flinch. 

Hosea came running out soon after, joining at Dutch’s side and urging him to calm down. That they could talk this out. 

“Tell them John. Tell them!” Abigail screamed now, stamping her feet while John bit as his lip, feeling a lot like a cornered animal. 

“There’s nothing to tell them! Stop making a scene!” He tried desperately, looking at Dutch with shame in his eyes. Shame Arthur felt and questioned. 

“Son, I asked you a question!” It was Dutch again, and now Hosea was grabbing at Dutch to hold him off of John. The entire thing was coming to a boiling point while Arthur stood silently watching. 

“It’s yours, John! You know it’s yours!” Abigail screamed again, a chorus of gasps coming from the small audience that had formed. Tilly, Karen, and Molly had turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren’t listening, as if to be respectful. 

Dutch raised a brow, stepping closer into John’s personal space, the younger’s body cowering visibly while he tried to shake his head. “It’s not, it’s not,” he murmured, stepping backward and trying to get away. But Dutch had both his shoulders and he wasn’t letting go. 

“I’m pregnant and it’s John’s baby!” 

The words left her mouth and Arthur swore he felt the world stop spinning. His ears felt like they were ringing, more words being exchanged but none of them hitting his ears. He was stricken in place, throat dry. 

The entire camp was silent, eyes casting around between each other as they waited for John to reply. But he never did. 

Before John could even form his words, Arthur had come from the perimeter of the crowd to throw a punch, hitting him square in the jaw. “You son of a bitch!” He yelled, audible gasps of surprise erupting from the camp, Sean howling somewhere in the background, while Arthur took John to the floor, pummeling him while the younger man attempted to block with his arms. Dutch jumped back, stupefied. 

“Aye, a fookin’ fight!” Sean hollered as he rushed over, followed closely by Pearson and Bill.

“Arthur! Arthur!” Dutch shouted desperately as he came to his senses and attempted to pull the outlaw off his younger son, being aided by the other men who quickly yanked Arthur up by his shirt. 

Abigail stood in shock, unsure of what was happening as she watched Arthur break away from the hands on him, turning to push at Pearson and then leaping back onto John like a rabid dog. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, John Marston!” He said as he grabbed the younger’s hair and used it to slam his face into the gravel, John groaning loudly as he resorted to curling up in a ball. 

“Arthur Morgan, you get off him right now!” Miss Grimshaw had made her appearance now, storming over and swatting at the brawler with her fan until finally Bill and Sean were able to get him off and hold him back. And then that was that. John was dragged away by Hosea towards the opposite end of the camp and Arthur was dragged to Dutch’s tent with Abigail. 

It would be a moment before the rest of the camp began to disperse, only beginning to break up and return to their daily routine when Miss Grimshaw had begun screaming. 

...

“What was that, Arthur?” Dutch finally broke the silence now from within his tent, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face. 

Arthur shook his head, wanting to spit but having too much love and respect for Dutch to even dare. He remained wordless, eyes boring holes into the floor. 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Abigail asked quietly now, to which Dutch sighed and pulled her into an embrace. 

“Nothing will happen, dear. John or no John, we will raise that baby.” He told her, the brunette silently crying in his arms. Arthur glanced up at her, wanting to go over and slap her but he knew damn well not to ever attempt such a thing. 

Of course John had gotten her fucking pregnant. Of course. Why would anything ever work out? Why now? Why ever? 

There were so many thoughts rushing through Arthur’s head, he didn’t even know where one began or where the next ended. 

“Everything will be alright, Abigail.” Dutch cooed to her, stroking at her hair and making Arthur want to rip his own out. He stood up abruptly and made his way out the tent, not even looking back when he heard Dutch calling him back over. 

...

From within Hosea’s own private tent, John sat with a cocaine solution soaked rag pressed against his swollen face, silent tears scrolling down his cheeks because he knew he’d ruined everything. It didn’t matter what happened now because it would never be the same. 

“John...” Hosea said quietly, moving to sit beside the man and sighing at the unresponsiveness. “I know it seems very ugly right now. But it will be okay. We’ll figure it out.” 

“No we won’t!” John snapped now, surprising Hosea though he settled moments later. “That kid ain’t mine! I ain’t havin’ no kid!” 

“No one else has been seen with Abigail for months, John. You and me both know this.” Hosea narrowed his eyes at the raven-haired man, trying to reason with him but receiving no form of progress. “Why did Arthur attack you?” He tried now, noticing the tenseness that immediately overcame John. 

“I don’t know.” John mumbled, clamping his eyes shut as he felt more tears forming. Jumping off a cliff seemed like a better idea than sitting here and talking this out. There was absolutely no way he could tell Hosea what was actually going on. No way in fucking hell. 

“I think you do know. But I suppose it’s not my business.” Hosea concluded to which John felt his chest rattle from the shaky breath of relief that escaped him. 

He knew he deserved it. Hosea did, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s another 2 parts to this story, however, one part is quite short and the other part is the longest part yet... would you guys prefer I split them into two chapters, knowing the next one will be very short, or should I just combine them into one final chapter? Let me know how you feel! :)


	4. Nothing New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camp rejoiced. Arthur mourned. John remained stone-faced, even as he held his son for the first time.

Arthur had kept his distance for the longest time, avoiding every situation he could that would find him paired up with John. His empty sadness had gotten the best of him on several occasions - and on more nights than he’d like to admit, he yearned for John’s touch. He’d spend many nights sleepless, eyes wide and staring up at the tent ceiling. But he never caved in. He never looked back. He broke a couple mirrors, shattered empty beer bottles with his shotgun, killed some animals, and he even picked fights in bars just to try and let the boiling anger out. He hated knowing Abigail took John away from him, but at the same time, he would remind himself that John was the problem. Not her. Or better yet, he was the problem himself. An outlaw with a dark past and an even duller future. Damaged goods. Useless. And John breaking his heart for the second time when it had already been broken by others was the last time he’d ever let anyone in again. 

The next six months came and went, fleeting and gloomy as a cool fall became an unexpected winter that left the camp rather unprepared. Abigail had begun sleeping in Dutch’s tent, taking her cot from her own, in order to protect the baby growing inside of her from the cooler temperatures. John being John, the man hadn’t done much of anything to help her. Even if Arthur wasn’t directly involving himself, he still found more often than not, that he was the one helping Abigail around while John took to stewing off by himself in the woods for hours on end. Never returning with anything of value for the camp, just wasting time away. Arthur hated having compassion for people and he wished he could just be a ruthless killer. But life was never what he wanted it to be. 

And then came spring, and with it new life. Abigail had finally given birth, Miss Tilly and Miss Grimshaw aiding in the safe arrival of a healthy baby boy, Jack Marston. 

The camp rejoiced. Arthur mourned. John remained stone-faced, even as he held his son for the first time. 

John stuck around more now, attempting to occasionally take responsibility for the boy, but as expected, he was dumb and lacked basic instinct on how to raise a child. And so more time was spent with John searching for Abigail to take Jack away from him than he actually spent trying to bond with the baby. The camp suffered for this; many nights were disturbed by the sounds of baby Jack’s screams, John’s yells, and Abigail’s own crying. It was an unhealthy relationship from the start, and mixing in a child did nothing to repair their issues. Pearson had shifted his sleeping quarters all the way across the camp in attempts to escape the bickering, and soon enough, several other members followed suit. 

Abigail once again returned to Dutch’s tent, bringing along baby Jack while John remained in his own tent. Dutch was disappointed to say the least, and his disapproval in John was, again, felt through the whole camp like shockwaves. Morale was at an all time low, despite the steady cash flow from lucrative bank robberies. So while the flowers bloomed and the leaves sprouted once more on the trees, the camp remained stagnant and hollow. The weight was heavy and everyone bared it, including Arthur.

By the time summer had come around, things had started looking up. They weren’t perfect, but at least the animosity that loomed through camp had lifted like a heavy fog. Arthur’s heart hurt less, he found, almost like a bloody wound that had finally begun scarring over. 

Baby Jack was a few months old now and while he was still crying often, John was at least contributing more and attempting to bond with the baby. On a few occasions, John and Arthur had incidentally crossed paths, and each time, the two would look at each other and then immediately look away like it had never happened. Arthur was good at that; he could pretend to see right through John’s body, like the man didn’t even exist. John, on the other hand, still wasn’t good at doing the same, biting at his lip and feeling his chest ache each time he’d even catch a glimpse of the older man. Just the smell of Arthur; whiskey and cigarettes and his own unique musk that was undeniably him, made John weak and wish for death. Anything was easier than ignoring Arthur. Absolutely anything. 

...

“Gentlemen! Saddle up!” Dutch’s voice boomed through the camp. It had been almost nearly a year since Jack was born and Dutch had been getting antsy for them to make more money. Hosea and Dutch had been planning a train robbery for months now and it was finally time to strike. As per the plan, they were going to catch a train heading into Valentine and then ride it all the way up to Annesburg, trap it in the tunnel, and then rob every single person on it blind. Hosea would stay back at camp while Dutch took charge. The women would bring them horses to the end of the tunnel for them to ride off on as a getaway. The man had selected Arthur, John, Sean, Bill, and the Callander brothers for the task - it was going to be a big train, after all, and they needed all the man power they had. Of course Arthur and John were to run ahead with Dutch; they were the favorite sons and Dutch always kept them close to him. The two took to running on opposite sides of Dutch, the leader thinking nothing of it, while the rest of the gang were told to take an opposite route to avoid stirring up any trouble from the law. 

“This is it boys! We’re gonna hit it big! We may never need to rob another train in our lives!” Dutch’s voice was wild, filled with excitement. 

Arthur chuckled from off to his right side, shaking his head. “You always say that, Dutch. But money’s always a hot commodity around here, ain’t it?” He said teasingly, Dutch sighing out loudly. 

“My boy, trust me. Have some faith.” 

“I do trust you, Dutch. I’m just saying... the camp keeps getting new members. New mouths to feed. More people that need money. Could we ever really not need more?” Arthur was being quizzical - something Dutch didn’t necessarily want to think about right now. 

“Arthur, you think too much. Rest that mind.” He stated coyly, giving his horse a good kick and sending him racing off in front of both Arthur and John. 

Arthur momentarily made eye contact with John, the man looking like he’d seen a ghost. With a scoff, Arthur gave his own horse a kick and took off, leaving John to ride behind him, bewildered. 

The ride into Valentine wasn’t all that long - if only for the fact that Arthur wanted to keep away from John, and so the pace remained fast throughout the voyage. When they arrived at the post office, Dutch had the boys hitch up their horses in the front while he hitched his off to the side. They waited patiently for the rest of the gang to arrive, Dutch clasping his hands together as he greeted the arriving crew. 

“The plan is simple, my men! We buy our tickets like the good folk we are, we sit and enjoy the ride, we wait til Annesburg, and then...” he paused to glance around, confirming no one was around to eavesdrop, “...we take all their riches.” 

Bill gave a squeeze to Sean’s shoulders in anticipation, the Irish-man grinning from ear to ear like a hyena. “We gon’ do good, Dutch, aye promise.” Sean said eagerly, to which the rest of the men nodded and let out noises in agreement. 

“Arthur and John, you buy first. Sit in the first cart. When we get to Annesburg and begin to enter that tunnel, you two will exit the front cart and take out the conductor. Once that’s under control, pull the bell 3 times to let the rest of us know you’ve done it. I will sit in the second cart, Sean and Bill, you will take the back and work your way up once we’re stopped. Mac and Davey, settle somewhere in the middle and don’t get caught lookin’ around!” Dutch ordered, pointing his finger as necessary and then watching in delight as the group began to split up. 

Arthur groaned to himself as he was assigned to babysit John, like always. “But Dutch we ain’t even know how to control a train.” He attempted to argue but Dutch had waved him off. Arthur spit in frustration. He didn’t even wait for the younger male to catch up, he simply went to the clerk and bought them two tickets, shoving the second one into John’s hand as he passed by. No words were exchanged, but John still felt breathless. They boarded together, Arthur leading, and took the short walk to the front of the train, entering it and taking the two seats near the door leading to the conductor. Arthur visibly startled when he felt John’s knee touch his own, eyes shooting down to look. He immediately pulled his legs closer together and towards the window, separating their bodies from touching. 

“Sorry.” John mumbled out, but he was left with no response. Before he could even try to say something else, the train’s whistle roared and the locomotive began slowly moving over the tracks. 

The assumption was that everyone had made it on and that everyone was in their correct positions, or at least that was what Arthur hoped. 

As the train neared Annesburg, Arthur began to get antsy. Not because he was nervous for himself, but because he knew there were a lot of lives at stake here - this wasn’t just a simple robbery where he had to watch his own back, no, there were a lot of men to keep alive. He had to kill the conductor and then control the train to a safe stop inside the tunnel. The plan sounded absolutely ridiculous and yet he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“We better get moving.” John reminded Arthur now, pulling the older man from his thoughts. Arthur said nothing, pulling his bandana over his mouth. He managed to push John aside to climb out of the seat, heading towards the open door leading to the coal cart. John followed quietly behind him, copying Arthur and pulling his own bandana up, the two hoisting themselves up the side of the cart and then running over the coals as quickly as they could. They both jumped down simultaneously and were immediately met with a security guard. 

“Hey! You can’t be here!” The man had started to yell, moving to grab his gun, but John had lunged forward with his hunting knife, slitting the guard’s throat and tossing his limp body right off along the side of the tracks. 

Arthur furrowed his brows, wanting to argue that John shouldn’t of thrown the body over board for someone to find, but he kept silent and slid the heavy door open that led to the conductor. “Get out!” Arthur growled to the man, pulling at him to rip him away from the control booth. 

“Help! Help!” The conductor cried out as he was flung back, Arthur’s knife going right into the man’s chest and stopping him from screaming further. He shoved the body into the corner, placing his knife neatly back into his holster. He then took control of the train, nervously playing around with the levers until he found one that began to slow the train down. He pulled the bell 3 times, just like Dutch had asked, and prayed the next few minutes wouldn’t turn into a nightmare. John stood guard outside the door, Arthur now leading the train into the tunnel and then pulling the brakes hard as they neared the center of it. He pulled the bell another few times for good measure before him and John took off back towards the middle of the train to begin the robbery. 

“Good job, my boys!” Dutch exclaimed as Arthur and John ran back through the commuter carts. They started at the top and worked their ways down, robbing each individual and only shooting those that dared to attack them. 

As they approached the middle of the train, they reunited with the rest of the men, the gang confirming everyone had been robbed from the back all the way to the front. 

“We locked all the doors, Dutch.” Bill informed as he loosened the bandana from his mouth with a smirk, counting through the stacks of bills he’d collected. 

“Wonderful. Now let’s get that dynamite and hit the safes.” Dutch smiled wide, a dangerous look in his eyes. 

Arthur was apprehensive, thinking they’d wasted enough time already and scored enough money, but he remained silent and compliant. 

Arthur watched as Mac and Davey Callander pulled out the dynamite and hooked it up to the safe in the middle cart. They all stood back, flinching as Davey took the shot and ignited the dynamite. The cart shook and everyone ducked from the debris, Dutch barely waiting for the dust to settle before he ran up and collected the riches that had been sitting locked up in the safe. 

He held up the gold bars in victory between balled up fists before beginning to toss a few amongst the men, each man catching it and cradling it as if it was a newborn baby. 

Arthur was shocked as he caught the two bars, looking them over as if they were apart of a hallucination. He felt like pinching himself just to make sure he hadn’t been actually dreaming the whole thing. 

The men all glanced looks of pride between one and other, Dutch patting John’s shoulder affectionately while the younger smiled for what seemed like the first time in over a year. 

“This, gentlemen, was a success. Let’s get out of here before the law find us. We’ll walk out of the north end of the tunnel and our horses should be there waiting. Then we split up and meet back at camp.” Dutch instructed between counting up the money clips and the gold bars. They’d hit it real big, and relatively safely. Arthur was still stunned. 

Once they’d exited the train tunnel together, the men spotted the horses and immediately rushed to get on them. That’s when Arthur realized there were only 4 horses to split amongst the 7 of them and he inwardly groaned, watching as Dutch, of course, took one horse for himself. 

“Arthur ride with John, will you? Get home safe, my boys.” Dutch chimed, voice warm as he turned on the horse, “h’yea!” He called out as he snapped the reigns, the horse picking up and taking off, leaving the rest of the men in its wake. 

Arthur was in the midst of putting away his share of the heist into the saddle bag when John came up behind him, as if to get on the horse. “Oh no,” Arthur started, shaking his head and stepping back defensively. “You ain’t sitting in the front. No way.” 

“I weren’t. Just waiting for you to put everything away.” John tried to defuse the situation, voice apologetic as he climbed up on the horse. Like a defenseless puppy. It made Arthur’s skin crawl seeing him act this way, as if to appease him. He wasn’t dumb. 

“Boy, knock it off.” Arthur grumbled back, giving a fake smile to the brothers as they took off together, and then waving away at Bill and Sean as they rode off in the opposite direction. Arthur waited until they were alone before he went over and grabbed John by the bandana, pulling his face down from the horse and nearly knocking him off in the process. “If you try anything, I will leave you tied up to a god damn tree, do you hear me, Marston?” 

John’s eyes were wide, not even fighting back as he balanced himself carefully on the horse, half on and half off. “I won’t try nothing.” He said quietly, throat jerking visibly as he swallowed, Arthur’s stare burning into him. And then he let go, the force causing John to scramble to catch onto the horse before he could fall off. 

John shook his head, wanting to fight back but knowing it wouldn’t be worth it. He sat silently as Arthur climbed onto the horse, now shifting himself back towards the horse’s rump, hands awkwardly going to grip at the back of the saddle. He wouldn’t dare touch Arthur. Not after that. 

“That’s them!” 

John and Arthur glanced back, eyes going wide as they spotted a small cavalry of lawmen, guns aimed and loaded. 

“Shit.” John murmured as he looked around them for an exit, knowing Arthur was doing the same. They’d taken too long to leave. 

“Now, now, we haven’t done nothing.” Arthur began, pulse pounding in his ears as he watched the lawmen take several steps forward with their horses. “You’ve simply got us confused with someone else.” 

“Y’all match the description. Arthur Morgan. John Marston. Both wanted men, you are. Dead or alive.” One of the men spoke out, smiling as he pet at the back of his horse’s mane. 

“We ain’t very good dead, trust me.” John chimed in now, Arthur looking back at him with narrowed eyes. “We should go.” The younger muttered to Arthur, wishing so badly that he was in the front of the horse. He wouldn’t of even been there any longer - the chase would’ve already started. 

“Mister, we have to leave. It was so nice meeting you.” Arthur began as he turned away and immediately kicked at the horses sides, the horse taking off in the opposite direction of the cavalry and Arthur heading them off the road in attempts to lose them. 

“Get them!” The lawman yelled from the front as his men took off after them, their horses sounding like thunder as they rode off to follow. 

John had turned around now on the horse, getting his rifle from off his back and holding it up to fire back warning shots. “No one has to die today!” He called out to whoever was listening. “If you pursue us, we will pursue you!”

The lawmen gave no formal answer, instead shooting back with hellfire, the bullets rattling against the dirt as Arthur rode the horse as fast as it could go. 

John took that as non-compliance and immediately began shooting, heartless as he shot for the horses, sending several of them flying off the beasts as he took them down. That would at least lessen the load for Arthur to navigate them to safety. He could hear screams as the men were either ejected in midair by the downed horses or simply disappeared under their corpses. 

“Stay back!” John yelled again, though this time his hand was on the trigger and he was firing at anyone who came close. 

“Just keep firing!” Arthur shouted as he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes wild as he saw the crowd of men riding their tails. This could easily be the end and so he kicked harder into the horse, the horse going as fast as it could as they took off through the town of Annesburg and then made a sharp left into the wilderness. 

“You’re coming with us!” One of the lawmen screamed back as he fired his own shots in retaliation, one of the bullets sinking right into John’s leg, the man screaming out in pain. 

“Fuck!” He cried out, wanting to so badly clamp his leg but knowing he couldn’t. He kept firing, teeth clamped tightly as he shot multiple rounds, reloading as quickly as he could, only to start firing more. 

Arthur didn’t need to look back to know John had been shot, but he said nothing. If he spoke now, they’d be dead. He just kept riding, heart feeling as if it could explode in his chest. 

John kept shooting, despite the trembling in his fingers and the blood oozing from his leg, the male afraid to even look down to see the damage. He made sure each shot he took counted, taking down as many of the lawmen that he physically could. 

After what had felt like hours of running but had only actually been minutes, the lawmen stopped pursuing them and they escaped to just outside of Rhodes, Arthur getting them a safe distance away from civilization before he finally stopped the horse in its tracks. He hadn’t even realized he’d been grazed by a bullet near his shoulder, the older man hopping off the horse to gingerly lift John off and place him onto the floor. 

He was acting on instinct, now ripping off the sleeve of his shirt with a hard tug to then take it and wrap it tightly around John’s calve where the blood had been pooling out of a gaping hole. “It don’t look too bad.” He muttered, unconvincingly, John groaning and punching a fist into the dirt as Arthur tightened the sleeve even more. 

“Ah...it hurts, though.” John hissed out, eyes clamping shut in anticipation as he witnessed Arthur pull a small half-empty bottle of rum from his satchel. 

“This’ll probably hurt, too.” Arthur sighed as he popped open the bottle and then proceeded to pour the liquid directly into the wound, John again pounding his fists into the ground and yelling. Arthur’s own face contorted as he watched John shift in pain. 

The two of them sat in silence as John attempted to settle himself from the burning sensation, Arthur’s eyes never leaving him. He could feel the older outlaw staring at him, as if expecting something. 

“Thank you.” John finally said in between heavy breaths, “for getting us to safety. I couldn’t ride a horse like that, let alone when being pursued by an army of lawmen.” It was hard for him to admit it, but Arthur definitely was the better rider. 

“Yea, well, thanks for having my back. I couldn’t of rode like that and shot at the same time.” Arthur sighed, rubbing at his shoulder to assess how much blood had soaked the fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t too bad - certainly manageable - but he’d need to wash it when they got back to camp. 

“Can I?” John asked now, voice quiet and thought unfinished, Arthur lifting a brow in confusion as he brought his attention back to John, hand falling away from his shoulder. 

“Can you?” Arthur repeated back, unsure. 

And then John grabbed Arthur’s face in his palms and drew their lips together in a kiss, Arthur being thrown completely off guard and pulling back immediately. “John Marston, what in the goddamn-“ 

John cut him off, pressing their lips right back together as if Arthur hadn’t just pushed him away. This time, Arthur didn’t fight back, instead letting their lips linger for a moment. 

“I’m not doing this.” Arthur said quietly against John’s lips, eyes closed. 

“Not doing what?” John mumbled back, bringing Arthur’s lower lip into his own mouth, sucking on the trembling lip gently. 

“Kissing you.” Arthur managed to reply. 

“You’re right, you’re not.” John said coyly, stroking at Arthur’s cheek and feeling the older man lean in slightly as a small smirk formed onto the younger’s face. 

“John,” Arthur mumbled, hands coming up to grasp the ones that were caressing his cheeks, gently pulling the hands away from his face and then breaking the kiss moments later. “I can’t do it.” 

John frowned, looking down at their hands as Arthur tangled their fingers together tightly. “Why.” He stated dryly; it didn’t even sound like a question, tone flat and empty. 

“Because you hurt me, John Marston. And I can’t do it again.” Arthur sounded defeated, looking away into the distance, guilt written all over his face. He hated even admitting it. And he knew that if he looked at John, being the manipulative person he was, he’d cave again. All the feelings would come rushing back. 

John chewed on the inside of his cheek, wanting to say something but afraid of saying the wrong thing. He squeezed at Arthur’s hands, as if the older man would turn to ash and vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. “We can start over, Arthur. It don’t have to end this way.” 

“It ended a year ago, John.” 

John swallowed audibly. “Please...” 

“No.” Arthur said more firmly, pulling his hands away from John’s now and recoiling them against his own body. “That was the last time. The last time, John Marston. You broke me once and you’ll never do it again.” His voice was strong but fleeting. He went to stand, only for John to quickly follow suit and attempt to grab his hands again, desperate. 

“Arthur!” He yelled out, voice cracking. “You can’t just leave me. Not like this.” 

“I didn’t leave you. You left me.” Arthur said harshly, shaking his head and going to get back on the horse. “This was a bad idea. Let’s go home. C’mon.” 

“No, Arthur, no. Please.” Arthur looked down at John as he got settled on the saddle, his chest aching when he saw the tears brimming John’s brown eyes. 

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” Arthur begged, frowning as he watched anger flash across John’s face. 

“Fine! Fuck you, Arthur Morgan! I don’t need you! I never needed you!” John yelled now, Arthur flinching but remaining calm. 

“I know you don’t. And I don’t need you.” Arthur replied back, voice as strong as he could muster. The tears were falling from John’s eyes now as he balled up his fists and his face reddened. 

“Fuck you!” He gasped out, going to punch at Arthur’s leg, the horse taking a step away in anticipation and John missing. 

“Let’s just go home. C’mon.” Arthur groaned, but John shook his head. 

John was enraged, doing the only thing he could think to do and bringing a hand to his gun holster, Arthur’s brows furrowed. 

“Don’t you dare.” He warned, “just get on the horse, dammit! Stop this shit!”

“No!” John yelled out, fingers lingering on the holster though they finally fell away from it. He didn’t have the guts to actually pull a gun on Arthur. “I don’t need you!” And with that, John took off in the opposite direction towards Rhodes. Arthur shook his head, giving the horse a small ‘c’mon, boy’ before he took off without the younger man. He wasn’t up for playing games. But John never looked back and so neither did Arthur. 

What Arthur couldn’t of anticipated was that it would be the last time he’d see John. That John would run away and leave him and his family behind for a whole year. 

And what a painful year it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end of this part of the story. Please do let me know what you thought! I may continue this from John’s perspective or possibly pick up from that one year he’s left.
> 
> On the other hand, stay tuned for more one shots and whatnot. ;) 
> 
> Thank you 😊


End file.
